


Potter is dead

by nogood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogood/pseuds/nogood
Summary: the title sort of summarizes it





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker and I don't have betas so sorry for any mistakes ^^~

Potter is dead.

The annoying bastard. Getting in the way at all times and now that he’s actually needed, he’s nowhere to be seen. Actually nowhere at all. Severus clenches his teeth and has to drop all the books in his hands pall mall on the floor in order to cast a shield charm against the bookcase and all its contents that are falling right on top of him. Great. Now he’ll have to start it all over. Not to mention several damaged books lying pitifully at his feet. He drops down on his knees and picks up a dark brown leather tome gingerly. ‘Workings of the Window Wards’. The cover is now torn off along the spine. “Reparo,” he murmurs and opens the book at random. It is all covered with notes on the margins, in that sloppy handwriting of Potter’s. ‘Wrong! Herm. did it for the tent all the time, and even no glass there,’ says one of them along the underlined paragraph. ‘Severus,’ states the small one at the bottom corner, and near it a little cauldron drawing with animated steam lines above. He shuts the book abruptly and nearly flings it at the floor again. Did the brat ever concentrate on what he was actually reading? Well, he doesn’t now.

He is dead.

Potter’s toothbrush is still lying at the sink. He never put it away in the mornings, probably just to irritate Severus. He stares at it angrily and puts his own carefully in the cabinet. He stares angrily at the mirror then. “Don’t frown, m’dear, you’ll get wrinkles,” the stupid glass admonishes. What’s wrong with the blasted thing? That’s what _he_ said, too. The thought makes him frown even more.

He’s dead now.

Severus clenches an empty fist and turns back sharply from the side table to his cauldron. He starts slicing bat liver for the next stage of the potion, perhaps a bit too roughly. There was always a steaming cup of tea on that side table just when he got a five minute pause in his brewing. But it’s empty now. There is no one to bring it. When the liver is done, he throws the knife at the counter and rubs his face tiredly with both hands. He can’t relax enough without that tea. Where’s Potter when he’s needed.

He’s gone.

He flings the second cup of coffee he made for breakfast across the kitchen. The scorching hot liquid is splashed all over the room The cup sobs mournfully against the stone wall and explodes to hundred useless red pieces. He won’t come, bed-haired and sleepy-eyed, clad only in pyjama trousers, won’t say ‘hey’ and drop at the elegant chair, propping his unkempt head on one hand, smiling happily at Severus, as if he’s the best news anyone can have in the morning. The idiot.

Now he is not good news for anyone.

He sits limply on the leather couch and stares into the fire. He’s too tired to read anything serious. The essays are all marked. Merlin, what do normal people do on the weekend evenings? Go to the new bar together, his mind prompts. Or get dragged to the muggle cinema by overenthusiastic Gryffindors. Or drag overly energetic Gryffindors to a calming walk into the forest to gather some ever needed ingredients. Or, it suggests relentlessly, fuck them passionately into the mattress. Calms them just as nicely as any walk would do, doesn’t it. He’d arch so beautifully under Severus’s hands and moan some sweet nonsense and whisper his name. And always ask for more. He’d cuddle and murmur that he wishes this to go on forever. That he’d never ever leave. 

Liar. 

Severus lies on his half of the bed in the dead of night, covered with his half of the duvet, and there is absolute silence. No rush of running water in the bathroom. No one is coming to lie on the other half, trying not to make a sound, hoping to give Severus all the rest he can get before the onslaught of dunderheads next morning. No one to ghost a gentle kiss over his lips, thinking that he’s already asleep, and whisper ‘good night, love’. That aggravating besotted twit. 

And he’s a dead twit now. 

The onslaught of dunderheads helps a little. There is only so much he can think about when interrupted every five minutes or so with either an inane question or a witless action. He is too proud to show them his weakness in any case. 

But he’s all alone and uninterrupted during the patrol rounds. Nothing’s there to stop him remembering Potter’s laughter. Crow’s feet around glinting green eyes. Teeth showing shamelessly. He doesn’t have anyone to laugh with anymore, nor anything to laugh about. 

Sometimes if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend that Potter is walking right beside him, silent as always in dark empty corridors. He would do that on Severus’s duty nights, having sought him out after returning from work, abandoning supper and relaxation in favor of his husband’s taciturn company. 

They’d talk later, when they’re back at Severus’s quarters and after Potter kissed him thoroughly. “I missed you,” he’d say and he’d mean it, ridiculous man. He would tell Severus about his day and what the ministry is up to. Sometimes he would tell a little thing he had noticed. How his magic was getting stronger in spells that he used more often than others, or how the first green leaves had shown up in spring, or how people would set up the most complicated wards and forget some elementary thing that would render the barrier completely useless, or a new oddity  in Diagon’s shopkeepers’ behavior during holidays. He’d chatter away, sinking his fingers in Severus’s hair, massaging his head methodically, then moving down to rub his neck and shoulders and arms and lower and lower still. Or he’d lie with his head at Severus’s lap, his legs on the armrest, talking incessantly and waving his hands energetically in the air in front of him. 

He doesn’t talk now. 

Severus patrols the corridors long after curfew these days. He doesn’t notice occasional tear sneaking its way down his face. He doesn’t take points from students he finds, either - just nods at them briskly, sending them along to their dormitories. He doesn’t want to return to his empty rooms. So he stays at the Astronomy tower, watching the night sky and the grounds below. 

McGonagall finds him there one morning, frozen by the chilly wind, his cheeks wet, his eyes empty. She hugs him and he cries and shudders in pain, having someone warm and alive beside him, but not Potter. Not Potter. “I know,” she whispers, stroking his back in slow circles. “I know.”

Potter is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginevra is sitting cross-legged at Potter’s grave when Severus arrives there. Potter said he wanted to be buried near his parents and they paid heed to it. Even though there was nothing of him to bury. He was cursed to dust, they’ve told Severus. And that dust was now all over the country. Severus threw up violently the first time he imagined it. He tries not to think about it since then.He pauses at the gates, not wanting to interrupt anything and, more to the point, not wanting to talk to Potter’s ex-wife. What could they possibly say to each other that wouldn’t hurt them both? But he steps on a twig and she hears him, of course. She turns her head and sees him and pats the ground nearby invitingly.

“How did you do this last time?” he asks at last. She looks at him fiercely, but doesn’t say aloud neither first nor second thing that comes to mind, thankfully. “Well, I had kids,” she says instead.  _ \- But they were at school. - But you are right there and there are a lot more of them with you, too.  _ They remain silent for a while, avoiding to look at each other, just watching the grave. 

When she continues, it’s so quiet that he has to strain his ears. “I had my family,” she says. “And I moved house. So I didn’t have to remember every single minute.” 

“And I knew I could talk to him when it all became unbearable.”

“He never said you met.”

“We didn’t.” She shakes her head. “But I knew I could. And so I could be strong enough not to. It helped.” She still doesn’t look at him, but she puts her hand above his. “I don’t think any of this can help you now. I’m sorry.” She squeezes his hand lightly. Well, he didn’t ask for her help and he wants to say so. 

Except he did. 

Later he looks around his rooms. Should he really put Potter’s things away? His green jumper is thrown haphazardly at the back of an old comfy armchair. It still smells like Potter. The armchair smells like him, too, come to think of it. Should he get rid of it? Should he get rid of the whole bookcase full of Potter’s books? The sheets? The bed? The bathroom? Hogwarts corridors? But everything he does during the day also reminds him of the man. He can’t even read the newspaper without making notes in his head to discuss with Potter later. Mostly to ask what the ministry is really up to, as The Prophet is still making up rubbish based on wild rumours. He can’t eat his dinner without thinking of the man. Can’t go shopping to Hogsmeade without asking Potter if he needs anything there first. Sleep. Brew. Plan holidays. Should he get rid of himself too, then? She’s right. She can’t help him at all.

Potter is dead. And Severus feels dead, too. 

“Enter,” he says at the knock to his classroom. The door opens and James Potter Jr. shows up with a biggish flat box in his hands. “Um, hello. Mum asked me to give this to you,” the boy says and puts the box on his table. He stands there for a moment, wiping his hands nervously at the side seams of his robes, temporary unsure what to do next. He has those cursed Potter’s eyes, of course. His face is so very Ginevra however, all smooth shapes and flowing lines. His hair is black but so  _ tamed  _ and  _ polite _ . It all looks so very wrong together. “Leave,” he says, perhaps a tad too sharply, considering that the boy did nothing to him this time. “Yes,” he ducks his head. His voice is so wrong, too. Severus closes his eyes. “Good evening,” James turns on his heels and heads for the door as quickly as he can without actually running. 

The portrait does not speak. It does not move much, either. It behaves a bit like a photo, in Severus’s opinion. A rather neurotic one at that. Potter there has a muggle pen Severus has never seen before, and he spins it round and round and round in his hands. Sometimes he starts clicking it on and off again. The sound is extremely annoying. His lips are pressed thin. The portrait does not show any emotions nor does it react in any way when Severus speaks to it. The best it can do is stop clicking for a while when Severus loses his nerves and snaps. 

It’s just as dead as Potter.

Whatever that woman thought she was doing by giving it to him? Probably got annoyed as hell and decided to get rid of it. And how does that work with her advice for him to throw away everything Potter? Well, turns out he can’t do that anyway. He places the portrait atop the fireplace first. Then moves it to the lab. He spends most of his free time there these days. He doesn’t talk to it, just stares at those rough features, into the green green eyes, looking for who knows what. It makes a fairly adequate substitution to a cup of tea. Or lack thereof.

\--

 

Severus is first to arrive to Potter’s grave this time. When Ginevra comes, she does not hide her footsteps. She conjures herself a chair, since he is sitting on one. But she sits on it cross-legged, just as she did on the ground. 

“Does it speak to you?” she asks. 

Severus lifts a brow even though she cannot see it. “Was it an experiment?” he asks in return.

“It is not supposed to behave like this,” she insists. 

He turns to her this time and stares shrewdly. “What in the name of Merlin possessed you to send me that  _ thing,  _ Ms. Weasley?” he demands. 

She looks taken aback. “I-- Hermione was very interested in that, too, for some reason.”  

“So what did you tell her?” 

She rubs her temples as if her head’s aching. “It’s not supposed to be all silent and stiff,” she says stubbornly.

Severus sighs. She’s being ridiculous. No wonder Potter left her. “Why are you here?” he asks. 

“Why do you think?” she snorts.

He tries to stay calm. This is not a place for them to quarrel. “Can we have a decent conversation or should I leave now?”

“I don’t know,” she says, in reply to who knows which question. Probably both. “I don’t even know him now. I suppose he’s changed. Of course he did. I wonder now why didn’t we stay friends. It’s not like we had a fight, is it?”

Severus doesn’t reply to that. He’s not sure he’s supposed to. He doesn’t want to, either. So he stays silent. He’s not even sure he wants to hear it all. But Potter’s dead, and it looks like he’s not only dead for Severus. 

“Well, I suppose there were reasons at first,” she goes on eventually. “I was confused and angry and had to get used to a new life. And I didn’t want to interfere. But it’s been years. And then it was just-- routine. Work and everyday chores and always some other plans. I didn’t get to think about reaching out for him. I wonder why do we always think about things like that only when it’s already too late. Well, it’s obvious why. But I thought it shouldn’t be like that. So I’ve been coming here to have a pause and think if I’m missing anything else now. I don’t want to lose my life to the routine.”

“That was quite a speech,” he says when it’s clear she’s finished. 

“It was a bit pathetic, I guess,” she shrugs. “But we all need our moments.” 

“And I asked for it,” he sneers sardonically. He wonders now why does  _ he  _ keep coming here. There is much less of Potter here than at home. And it’s not as if he needs reminding that the brat’s actually dead. He doesn’t even have any feeble moral justification like Weasley. He just feels blank here. And it’s a nice reprieve from all the other things he feels. Maybe that’s it then. Maybe he needs a place with less Potter. She would be right about her stupid advice if that’s true.

“Anyway,” she waves her hand to dispel the mood. “I’ll be here a lot. So grin and bear.”

“Spare me.” He rolls his eyes. She giggles, the impossible woman. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he says and disapparates after vanishing his chair. 


	3. Chapter 3

Granger’s owl is unexpected. _Weasley’s_ , really, but there are too much of them as it is, so Severus refuses to call her that and add to the confusion. The letter is polite and to the point. _Please meet me at Leaky Cauldron_ and so on and so forth. The only reason for it he could think of is the portrait. Which is no good reason at all. The thing is useless. It stares at Severus impassively for hours. The man himself could only be this emotionless in his sleep. If even that.

“So, how you’ve been doing?” Granger asks, placing a nondescript brownish leather book on the table. The title is nowhere to be seen. She is thin. Skin and bones and eyes. And all that hair around her makes her look even thinner.

“I see _you’re_ not doing that good,” he replies sourly. “You look underfed.”

“Oh, I’m quite alright, but thanks for worrying,” she waves away and smiles a charming smile at him, showing two dimples on her cheeks. Severus doesn’t even know what to make of it. “You know girls, always strive for our figures. And Ron’s ever so glad of it, the hypocrite,” she chuckles.

He stares at her while she continues jabbering in the same vein. He had only seen her once since their graduation from Hogwarts, but that was at their marriage with Potter, and the event was admirably short. And then she wasn’t this chatty.

“Who are you and what did you do to Granger?” he asks at last.

She laughs. “Oh, please, professor, call me Hermione. I am starting to feel old with all that Granger business. We’re supposed to be more of a friends anyway. But alright. I can talk about magical theory if it’ll make you more comfortable,” she continues, seeing his glare. “Have you read that new Dawson book yet? Complete rubbish if you ask me. He starts soundly, but that’s not even his thoughts, is it? Just re-stating the established basis. Of course someone has to do it, and he’s good at summarizing, I suppose. But what he does with it next is just irresponsible. What if someone decides to repeat his experiment? Did he even do it himself, I wonder. I shudder to think of all the consequences he could get.”

He wonders if she would ever shut up. She is worse than Potter. If he knew he’d order tea beforehands. Then he could drink it in peace while she talks.

“Oh, did I bore you again?” she asks.

“You do have much to say for an unspeakable.”  

“Yes, we do that.” She gives him a tight little smile. “Well, now you know I am real, so why don’t you tell me how you’ve been?”

“Fine. Now we’ve got niceties out of the way can you tell me why am I here?”

She sighs. As if it’s him who’s being unreasonable. “Please, professor. Can you just speak to me?”

“Is it about that portrait? Ginevra said you were interested.”

She picks up the book nervously and looks at it thoughtfully with her huge brown eyes, biting a lip. Waitress arrives at this moment and they order tea and biscuits and fruit and nut cake for Granger.

“You can tell me about it if you like,” she says still contemplating the book. “But I’d rather you talked about yourself.”

“I’ve already told you. I’m just as fine as always. Nothing unusual whatsoever is happening in my life to warrant your sudden interest in me.”

“Well, what about Harry? How are you coping with that?” she asks boldly, putting the book back at the table.

“Do you fancy yourself a mind healer, Granger?” he narrows his eyes threateningly.

“It would be so much easier if I was one,” she smiles amusedly. “But as it is, I’m afraid we’d have to do it hard way and become friends. Or pretend to,” she adds hastily seeing him scowl. “But it’s really important. So please please could you cooperate?”

“You want us to be fake friends,” Severus crosses his hands at his chest. “And chat about Potter’s death.” The words are so painful in his lungs, but he pretends they aren’t. “Would you like a fake Christmas gift, too?” he asks sarcastically, lifting a brow.

“That would be lovely,” she smiles mischievously. “But I’d rather you started calling me Hermione. And why don’t you visit us for dinner? Would you come on Wednesday? I’ll make shepherd’s pie.”

“We can start small,” she adds, seeing his hesitation. Their tea arrives and she takes a cup, hugging it with her bony hands as if she’s cold. “What do you do with your free time these days? Oh, we can do this in turns. So that you don’t feel like I’m a _mind healer._ ” She shows her dimples again. “Would you like me to go first?”

“Be my guest,” he waves at her, brow switching from sarcastic to amused now. Predictably, she bursts into speech about cooking and volunteering and opera and whatnot. It is so much more tolerable now that he has his tea.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” she declares. “What do you do at your spare time?”

“I don’t have spare time,” he says grumpily.

“Hmm. What do you do with you busy time then?”

“I am a Potions Master. I brew.”

But she’s having none of it. “So what are you brewing now?”

She interrogates him for almost an hour and in the end makes him promise to visit her house on Wednesday. She still would not tell him anything conclusive about why she’s doing it, except that apparently _it’s important._ Severus hasn’t got a slightest idea what does she mean by it.

\--

Granger’s pestering him all the time now, owling him, inviting him for dinners and outings and even visits him at Hogwarts. She weasels his thoughts out of him, asking what he’s working on, suggesting books and then following up. She tries to drag him into her numerous projects and sometimes even succeeds in it. She’s latched on him like a vice. Severus wonders if she’s like this with all her friends. If she is, it’s a miracle he ever got to see his husband in the evenings at all.

In spite of his initial misgivings, they don’t ever discuss Potter’s death or Severus’s coping with it. They usually don’t mention the man at all. She doesn’t comment on Potter’s things still scattered all over Severus’s rooms. He has mostly stopped noticing them now. He only scowls at the toothbrush still lying on the sink in the mornings. He’s most vulnerable before his first coffee. And he still watches _the portrait_ , of course. Which remains unchanged - it clicks and stares.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Severus jerks his hand to shake off the sticky goo. Granger volunteered to process a hundred boxes of murtlap tentacles for St. Mungo’s and somehow it means that he and Ronald Weasley are doing all the work while the woman herself is closed in her study with stacks of books. “I still don’t even know why am I doing this,” he grumbles.

“Out of goodness of your heart?” suggests Ron, drinking from his bottle of butterbeer. Unlike Granger he’s rather rounded up and starts showing a beer gut. Apparently being an auror is not as nerve wracking as Granger’s job. Although Potter had always been fit.

Severus makes a sip from his own tumbler of scotch and throws the thought out of his head. “Certainly not,” he says.

“Thought not,” agrees Weasley. He’s a very straightforward man and refreshingly uncomplicated compared to certain unspeakables. It even pleases Severus to talk to him sometimes. “What are you doing here then? Not that I have anything against it, mind.” Right, he’s also suspiciously accepting of Severus’s company.

“Your wife said it’s important for us to become friends, believe it or not. Though I’m starting to suspect that she just needed more manpower for her insane projects.” He starts working on a next jar all the same.

“Well, if she didn’t explain, she probably couldn’t,” reasons Weasley. “It’s something work-related then.”

“I was sure it had something to do with that blasted portrait your sister foisted on me. But she never even asked to see it.”

“Well, you know how they are. Did she try the book trick at all?”

“I haven’t got a slightest idea what are you talking about, Weasley,” drolls Severus, levitating a blob of pickling goo from the cauldron into a jar full of tentacles and waving his wand in spirals to mix them properly.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know about a book trick?”

Severus rolls his eyes. “Do I look like I know to you?”

“Well…” he frowns. “But didn’t you do it with Harry at all?”

Severus seals the jar with an irritated tick of his wand, nearly exploding the whole thing. “Either explain yourself properly or stop babbling.”

“Err, alright?” he sounds unsure. “So, you know how they can’t talk at all about anything related to those ‘secret things’ of theirs?” he starts, making a saucy little quotes gesture with his fingers around _secret_. “Those seals of theirs?”

“I imagine so,” says Severus. Though he never had to deal with it directly, he knows the unspeakable seals are rather a nasty piece of work.

“So they invented this book trick. Whenever they can’t reply you, they take that book and pretend they’re talking about it. Took some time to work it out, too. As they need to actually believe they’re only discussing a book, right?”

“Don’t tell me that all this time Granger’s been spilling Ministry’s secrets to you?”

“Hey, she isn’t stupid, you know. They’re just being paranoid there. They’d classify sneezing if they could. But there are things family needs to know, aren’t there?”

“Are there?” Severus asks, arching his brow. He’s trying - and failing - to remember all his conversations with Granger in the light of this new knowledge. He’s sure she picked up that mysterious book of hers at several points but for the life of him he couldn’t recall what they were discussing then.

“Mmhmm,” Weasley nods and gulps his butterbeer.

“And what does Potter have to do with any of this?”

“Why are you calling him Potter anyway?”

“And this is your business how exactly?”

“Alright, it isn’t,” Weasley shrugs, but still looks a bit worried. “Just a bit strange, you know.”

“So--?”

“So what? Oh. Right. Well, they invented the whole thing together with ‘Mione. I couldn’t talk to my best mate very well when he just stares and hums half of the time, could I?”

The air suddenly thickens around Severus. “What are you saying, Weasley?”

The redhead frowns at him uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“How did Potter get under that many unspeakable seals?”

“Well, Hermione has lots of them, too, isn’t she?”

“But you don’t?”

“Of course not.”

“But Potter did?”

“Sure.”

The knuckles got white at Severus’s grip on his wand. “Weasley,” he almost whispers.

“Ah.” Ron freezes suddenly, staring at Severus. “Oh. Um, give me a moment, will you?” He leaves his bottle and goes to Granger’s study. The door is closed behind him, cutting out all sounds.

Severus closes his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

The ground is lost under his feet. Not this again. Not secrets and lies. God, he’s tired of that scenario. He wants to break something badly. All those murtlap jars look tempting. The gooey mass would plop so satisfactorily against the wall. Or atop of Weasley’s head, really.

So he let something slip. And now they’re discussing damage control with Granger. Severus clenches his teeth. He certainly does not want to hear what story they’d come up with. He stands up and disappears into the fireplace.

It takes them more than an hour to show up again. An hour of kicking his furniture, pacing the rooms like a caged tiger, and sitting tiredly at the kitchen, staring into space. He’s is half way through preparing the base for calming draught when Weasley’s yell comes from the fireplace.

“Snape! Are you there? Can I come in?” Severus tightens his lips and does not reply. “Come on, open the fire. Do you hear me? Let’s talk. Snape? I know you are there. Don’t be a git. Come here.” He’d need to come out of the lab to cast silencing charm on the dimwit. Can’t he see that he’s not welcome? Bloody Gryffindors. He chops and dices methodically. “Snape, I’ll throw a goo at your couch if you don’t get here! Come on, man, my knees hurt.” When will he shut up? “Oh, fine, hide there. Don’t harm that portrait though, whatever you do. Hermione says she’ll find you herself if you don’t show up soon. Git.” Severus can almost picture the idiot sticking his tongue out. He sighs with relief when the silence finally falls again.

There are flowers at Potter’s grave. The wind is cold and fierce, but they’re fixed with a sticking charm. He hugs himself against the chill and just looms there. Calming draught was a good idea. He should probably brew it ages ago. He didn’t even know he needed it. He cleaned his quarters finally. Put all Potter’s things in boxes and shrank them. Restocked the kitchen. Recolored bed sheets for good measure. It’s almost as it was before the man upended his life. The tight muscle knots at his shoulders and neck are softer now. The night sky is beautiful. The air smells fresh.

“You really should talk to Ron,” Granger says from behind him.

Severus is too calm to be startled by her appearance. “Leave me alone.”

“He’ll be able to speak freely with you, without my… complications.”

“I don’t want to know any of this.”

“I think you do.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want. I was far better off without you. It was a mistake to agree to meet you in the first place.”

“Better off? Severus, you almost stopped. Do you think I haven’t noticed?” He flinches at her use of his name.

“I don’t like to be used, Granger. Whatever hairbrained scheme you concocted in the bowels of your beloved ministry, I won’t be part of it. Go away, now.” The potion must be wearing off. Or is it talking to her that’s just so aggravating?

“I just want to help you. Severus, please!”

“I’ll send you that thing tomorrow morning. You can find another guinea pig for your experiments.” She chokes, not able to speak about it. He smirks smugly. Now he knows how to shut her up effectively.

“You are seriously overreacting,” she finds her words. “It was nothing grave. Just work stuff. I’m sure he only wanted to protect you. He loved you so much.”

“Don’t!” he yelps.

She sighs deeply. “I’ll be back. Please think about what I said.” Her disappearance is just as quiet as her arrival.

\--

“What were you thinking, idiot boy?” Severus wonders softly, tracing the painted jaw with his finger. Potter just looks at him glumly from above the heavy frown and starts clicking like mad. He seems to know he’s been put down from the lab wall. Severus can’t even get properly angry at him no matter what he thinks of it. He wraps the portrait and sends it to Granger without a note.

He goes to the Great Hall for breakfast. Has time for a morning stroll to the lake before classes. Marks the homework in teacher’s room while making witty comments to his colleagues’ nonsense talk. Gets a  savoury lamb stew from house elves for dinner. And is having a nice calm day all in all. He is finishing a batch of skele-gro for hospital wing when Weasley starts yelling from his fireplace again.

“Oi, Snape! Come here! It’s urgent!”

Rolling his eyes, Severus puts out the fire under the cauldron and goes to the living room. “What now?”

“Ha! Knew you’d fall for it!” Weasley triumphs. “Here, take this thing back. You’re making Hermione’s head crack in two there, you know that?”

“I don’t want it back, thank you.”

“Didn’t you hear me? She can’t have it. Nobody can have it now without a hell of a headache apparently, except you. So do me a favor and take it. She’s driving me mad there.”

“Yes, she has a talent for that,” he sniffs. “I don’t know how you live with her.”

“Hey, watch it! That’s my wife you’re talking about. Come on, take it, it’s heavy.” Weasley has the thing in his outstretched arm this whole time. He’s probably quite uncomfortable.

Severus isn’t in any hurry to help him. “Just drop in into the fire, why don’t you.” But the thought makes him queasy. The portrait is obviously some kind of artefact with unknown and probably sinister effect on Severus, but it still has Potter’s face.

“No, look. You can hide it in a closet or something if you want. Though that would be a stupid idea. But leave it intact, alright? You’ll probably thank us for it one day.” That is highly unlikely, and judging by the look on Weasley’s face he doubts it, too.

“And why exactly would I want it, Weasley?” Severus asks. “What does it do?”

“Ah, ready to talk now? Can I come in then?”

Severus reluctantly nods. The red head disappears and Weasley enters the room. He puts the package on the coffee table and flops into an armchair. Severus sits on the couch and looks at him expectantly.

“Now, don’t fly off your broom, okay? But I can’t tell you what it does. No, wait,” he waves both his hands in panic at the look on Severus’s face. “I mean that’s just how it works. If you know what it’s about, you can’t do it. I know it’s mental. But believe me it’s not the most mental thing they come up with there.”

It’s the most idiotic excuse he could imagine. He believes it only because he’s sure Granger could do better if she had to invent it. “How did your sister come by it?”

“I guess Harry gave it to her, years ago.”

“And she shoved it to me because?”

“Um, it’s meant for a loved one,” Weasley replies, averting his eyes, tips of his ears going pink.

Severus has the urge to bolt for some reason. Or to throw the man out. He crosses his legs and his arms in a guarded gesture and narrows his eyes. “Are you saying he loved her until his death?” It’s a hurtful, nauseating thought. He knows it can’t be true, their history shows it. They were happy together. And why would Potter leave his wife otherwise? Severus’s heart is beating in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little cliffhanger there for you :) don't worry, I'll update super soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Weasley looks at him shocked. He must have noticed Severus’s state, because he pales visibly. “Oh Merlin, Snape, no! I’m making it worse again, am I?” He growls in frustration. “That’s not what I meant, man. I--” He knits his red brows. “Hermione’s right, you really aren’t okay. Not okay at all,” he shakes his head. 

“I’ll make us tea,” Severus says standing up abruptly. He goes to the kitchen and uses this minute away to compose himself. He can’t quite believe he’s discussing his love life with Weasley. 

“So, you were saying?”

“It wasn’t active until recently,” Weasley seizes a chocolate biscuit at once and shoves it into his mouth. “And then I expect it started giving Ginny those headaches. And as soon as she figured it out she gave it to you. Or something.” He’s quite disgusting, talking while chewing. “I haven’t actually asked her.” He shrugs.

Severus remains silent for a while, letting it all sink in. So it was somehow activated by Potter’s death? What in seven hells the thing is supposed to do? And how did Potter get involved in this? It seems that it was created somewhere in the department of mysteries. “So I gather Potter wasn’t an auror then?” 

“Is that what he told you he’s doing?” Weasley scratches his head. 

The question actually gives Severus a pause. What  _ did _ Potter tell him? “I don’t believe he said anything conclusive.” Turns out he just assumed it, and never bothered to ask. The Prophet seemed to operate under the same assumption. Though that isn’t any evidence, of course. 

“Huh. Well, that’s not surprising.” 

“Care to elaborate?” he drums his fingers on the elbow impatiently. Will he have to pry every word?

“No, I mean--”

“Was he unspeakable?” Weasley just nods. Severus closes his eyes for a moment as the next thought occurs to him. 

“He wasn’t cursed on a mission at all. How did he die?” He looks directly into the blue eyes. And they look scared.

Weasley gulps, then busies himself pouring two cups of tea. “Milk?” 

“No milk, Weasley. The truth.” Severus demands. He has to wait for the redhead to put sugar in both cups and stir. “Today, if you please.”

“It was still an accident on a mission.” He sounds subdued. “Just not an auror mission, that’s all.” 

“It happened at the department then?” A nod again. 

“What on Earth could he be working on, that the ministry allowed  _ the  _ Potter to die on its premises?” He sounds almost hysterical. A dose of that calming draught wouldn’t come amiss for this conversation. He should have known better.

Weasley contemplates him for a while, rubbing his mouth with a palm. “Now, I don’t mind telling you. I’m sure you’re smart enough to keep it to yourself, too,” he says. Oh, to think the day would come when Ronald Weasley would assess his intelligence. Severus smirks dangerously at the comment. “But you know. If Harry didn’t tell you any of this, he probably had a good reason. He’s my best mate. I wonder if I’ll be doing him a disservice here.” 

“I don’t think Potter gets to decide anything now. You should have sorted out your moral qualms before barging in here, yelling to talk to me. So talk.” 

Weasley eyes the hearth wistfully. “Do you think I can go and sort them out now?” 

“No, you can’t.” 

“Sorry, Snape, but now you’re just being childish.” 

“Childish, am I?” he growls. “It’s just his job, and until yesterday you were sure I already knew about it anyway. So am I to be the only one not to know what my own husband did for work?”

Weasley ticks his head to one side in a strange gesture Severus is not sure how to interpret. “R-right. Well, don’t read too much into it now that you’ve built up for it.”

“ _ I _ ’ve built up?”

Weasley inhales deeply as if preparing to dive. “He researched Death.” He says resolutely. 

“He  _ what _ ?!”

“It’s one of the mysteries,” Weasley shrugs, then exhales forcefully. “You know how he died at Hogwarts? And got back? So they wanted to make him their test subject. Shacklebolt was all over his ass about it. Worst idea I’ve ever heard. So in the end they found a compromise. And Harry got to work for them instead. I think-- Well, it’s where the Veil is. And I think Harry thought Sirius-- You know...”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Severus says darkly. They drink their tea in silence. Severus’s head spins.  _ His _ Potter? That bright and laughing man, filled with so much life that it spilled all around him, giving everything a new purpose. Looking into Death day after day after day? For  _ years _ ?

“Snape?” Weasley nudges. “You okay?”

“Don’t be a drama queen,” he says, seeing Severus’s face. “It’s just a job. Not any more dangerous than aurors, if you ask me.” But he sounds unsure. “Knew I shouldn’t tell you, though.” 

“Did you sister know?” Severus asks then. 

“Well, of course she knew.” 

A cup breaks in Severus’s hand with a sharp clink. Weasley jumps from his armchair. “What the hell? Are you injured?”

Severus looks at his palm interestedly, as if it’s a new bug he’s never seen before. “I think you’d better go now,” he says tonelessly. 

“Should I call ‘Mione? She’s good with cuts.” 

“Go. Away.” 

He does just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually feel a bit bad for poor Ron to have to put up with surly Severus. but he has no choice, alas :)


	6. Chapter 6

Severus can’t make himself blame Potter. It’s painful, yes. But how did it happen? Why did he feel the need to hide his job from his own husband? It can’t be that he couldn’t confide in him. Severus was a spy for years and years. Did it count for nothing with Potter? Or did he just not care to tell him? Did he not feel safe enough with Severus? Whatever it is, it hurts a lot. It means he wasn’t good enough for Potter.

He spends hours dwelling upon their past, reconsidering his every action, guessing, doubting himself. Where did he go wrong? Oh, and is that a dangerous path to go. He is not an easy man to live with, he knows that. They had their fair share of disagreements and several spectacular quarrels. But that’s how relationships are supposed to work, isn’t it? Should he have changed himself for Potter instead? Could he? Would it even help anything?

And then there are those supposedly best friends of Potter’s. What were they thinking allowing him to go on with that job? What was his wife thinking? Why didn’t she stop him? They had _children_ , for Merlin’s sake.

The thought of Shacklebolt and ministry users just sends him into a rage. It’s a miracle that no large-scale accidents happen in class - he fixes the minor ones on autopilot, but wouldn’t be able to prevent anything major in this state of mind. He’s lost half of the time and angry the rest of it. He uses his anger to go on with his potions projects. He picked up quite a few earlier, when Granger was pestering him. And anger makes him more productive.

The portrait still lays wrapped at his coffee table, and not a sound is heard from it.

 

_Severus,_

_You are my dear friend and it saddens me immensely to know that you’re in pain. I can’t imagine what happens in your head right now, but I know it must be hard. I only ask you this. Please, don’t second guess Harry’s feelings. Don’t think that he didn’t trust you. He trusted you with his life. You meant so much for him._

_He only even told us about his work because we were right there with him at the time. I am not saying that you weren’t. You saved him so many times and we all know it. That’s exactly why he tried to protect you from any more distress, I think. He wanted you to be happy and free of any of this._

_I’d say you all of this in person, if only you stopped avoiding me. I know we didn’t see each other much before. That’s just because Harry didn’t think you’d like our company. Trying to protect you once again. But I don’t think we can leave you alone in this. So please come back to us and we’ll sort this mess out together._

_At least seek the company of someone you trust, if you absolutely must go on avoiding us. Though I don’t know why you insist on doing it. We are only trying to help and nothing of this is exactly our fault. Ron still feels terrible for upsetting you._

_Please be well._

_Yours,_

_Hermione._

Severus vanishes the letter and shoos the owl away. He’s back to his breakfast when the next one arrives.

_Snape,_

_You do realise there are still more than thirty boxes of murtlap in here? I’ll be stuck with them till the end of month! You’ve promised to help. So be a decent human being, get over here and do your duty._

_RW_

He disposes of it, too. When his Prophet arrives, Minerva quirks a smile at him. “You’re popular with the post today.” He rolls his eyes at her.

Weasleys just don’t know how to stop. Granger sends him owls almost every other day going on and on about what he should or should not think, about Potter’s job and his feelings, and what should he do with himself. She sends him a bloody _book_ . “Living through a loss”. He sends it back, unopened, only to get it again in a week. Weasley peppers it all up with his own buffoon short missives. _“I’ve got blisters cutting all that stuff now and had a tentacle nightmare yesterday. Hope you’re ashamed.”_ Things like that. He ignores them.

He doesn’t need to be told what to feel. He’s doing just fine on his own. He is _not_ leafing through that idiotic book. And he certainly doesn’t need their stupid company.

When he arrives, Weasley is brewing a pickling goo. And it’s boiling over.

“I see you are still the same blockhead you were at school,” Severus says derisively, sprinkling the greenish mass with salt. It starts to calm down immediately. “Do you forget to brush your teeth, too?”

“Snape!” Weasley cries out. “ _Now_ you show up! Well, there are two boxes left and they’re all yours.” He steps away from the worktable. “I’ll go get Hermione. Drink?”

“I’m not here for that--” he starts indignantly, but Weasley already disappeared behind the door. Well, maybe it’s for the better. He doesn’t know what he’s here for, anyway, and this is as good an excuse as any other.

“Severus, good to see you!” Granger arrives from the kitchen with a tray of drinks - whiskey tumbler for him and a glass of wine for herself - and a plate of cheese cubes. Weasley follows with a bottle of beer.

“Granger.” He glares at her stubborn usage of his name.

“One day you’ll start calling me Hermione,” she sighs, setting the tray and settling into a stuffy armchair. “I recommend right now. Honestly, it’ll happen anyway. Come sit here, it will simmer just okay without you.”

He lowers the fire and sits on the couch grudgingly.

“I’ve read your article in _The New Magic_ ,” she starts chattering right away. “It’s brilliant. Marge says so, too. And she’s going to make the potions column regular now. You should contact her.”

He’s dragged into a conversation before he knows it.


	7. Chapter 7

Granger is doing it again. She’s all business and daily news when they meet. As much as she’d gone on about Potter and stuff in her owls, not a word is said between them about any of it. She knows he doesn’t want to talk about it and she’s lulling him into a false sense of security. He knows that. And she probably knows that he knows. Severus is quite alright with that as long as she doesn’t do anything about it. Some of her ideas of a project are even enjoyable.

Others, of course, are insane. Like her inexplicable desire to decorate his quarters for Christmas. He can’t even recreate in his mind the logical chain that led him to agree to it. That’s how he often feels in her company. Granger is always a maelstrom of activity and she somehow manages to pull friends, foes and innocent passers by into whatever she does at the moment whether they want it or not. The only advantage of him being present now is that he can stop the most ridiculous of her actions. Like attaching a wreath to the outside of his entrance door.

“I still don’t want you to be alone for Christmas,” she says, sticking a bright green snowflake-patterned sock to the mantelpiece. “Maybe you could go with us to the Burrow? Molly would be so glad to have you.”

“Absolutely not!” he answers, quite horrified at the thought.

“Hmm.” She falls into silence, but Severus is sure this is not the last he’d hear from her on the subject. Well, he can outstubborn her any day.

“Alright, we’re finished here,” she pronounces, looking around at the result of her efforts in satisfaction. He supposes he should at least be grateful for her moderate taste. Or maybe she is scared to go full force, which would be wise of her. The room looks cozy with a few fairy lights here and there and there is a delicate pine scent in the air. “Let’s move on to the next room then. We’ll save Christmas tree for the last.”

“Next room?” What’s wrong with the woman?

“Of course. You need to feel the holiday spirit wherever you are, not go to the specific room for it. Come on.” She stomps resolutely into his bedroom.

Severus leans against the doorway and watches her as she attaches small ornaments of holly, fir branches and pinecones to his furniture.

“You can go traveling instead,” she says. He knew she wouldn’t be silent for long on the subject, anyway. “We went to Sweden with Ron for the holidays a couple of years ago. The aurora is quite spectacular, of course, and-- Well, I don’t suppose you’d be up for dog-hugging,” she smiles slyly, probably imagining something stupid. With another wave of her wand his bedsheets turn from dark grey to pinstriped green. “But anyway, the winter is quite beautiful there and in the wizarding part of Stockholm there is-- Is that Harry?” she frowns suddenly at the clicking sound going from the chest of drawers.

He pins her with a pointed stare. “Strictly speaking, no,” he says with a dark humour.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she nods impatiently. He wonders what she _does_ mean, though. Seeing as she can not speak about the portrait if she means it. Her mind must work in most peculiar patterns.

“Is that what you research at the Mysteries? Workings of the mind?” he asks suddenly.

“You think that of me, really?” She shakes her head. “I thought you’d know me better by now.”

“I am sorry if I offended you,” he says, “Although I don’t see how. I see mentality and consciousness as a worthy research subject, as well as a highly complicated one.”

“I suppose,” she sighs and conjures a brain-shaped bauble, which is a petty revenge indeed. “I just wish that one day people would stop seeing me as an insufferable know-it-all.”  

Severus arches his brow. “And I wish that when students choose to keep my words at heart for life, it would at least be something more useful than irrelevant insults. We can’t all have what we want, it seems.”

“Oh, I remember a thing or two about potions, too, don’t you worry,” she smiles. Severus is glad to see that her decorations returned to sensible shapes.

“So what _do_ you research?” he asks again.

“Mmm, can’t you guess?”

“Oh, I would hate to offend you again.”

“You are not going to forget that one soon, are you?” she laughs.

“Not very likely, no.” Her laughter is reflected in his eyes.

“Who would have thought that you’d turn out to be so vindictive!” she chuckles.

He just stands there, waiting for an answer. They can sidetrack each other like that forever.

“Well, it’s love of course.” Her tone is gentle and reminiscent.

“Of course,” he rolls his eyes, suddenly reminded of Dumbledore. “Is that what upset you? You thought I assumed you have no heart?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It strikes him suddenly that she treats him not only like an equal, but as a close friend. And the last time he was treated like that by anyone other than Potter was very long ago, indeed. Since Lily, really. Perhaps Minerva would, if he allowed her to. But he usually didn’t let people get near him. It just wasn’t in his nature. Or so he thought. So how did this happen?

“Severus?” Granger waves a hand in front of him. Should he really start calling her Hermione now? That would be awkward. “Where have you spaced out?”

“What?”

“I said, why is Harry closed in a chest of drawers?”

“You are not easily distracted, are you?”

“Not at all. I still hear the clicking, you know.” He hears it, too. He just doesn't notice it much anymore. Like the clock ticking. 

“It’s my Harry,” he declares, “I can do with it whatever I like.”

“And you like him in a box?” she smirks.

He tilts his head. “Do you disapprove?”

“And what if I do?”

“Oh, do tell me. It’s my own fault that I went and befriended a bloody love advisor, after all.”

She beams at him. “Oh, I’m glad you think of me as a friend. But you do know Harry doesn’t like small closed spaces? Especially dark ones.”

“Well, it’s not him,” he snaps, his cheerful mood suddenly evaporated. “Is it?” he asks shrewdly, horrified at the abrupt thought.

“No, of course not,” she says hastily. “Well, we’re finished here, anyway,” she sighs. “Let’s move on to the kitchen.”


End file.
